Accepting the Lance, page 30
part #22 of Liaden Universe Series
“Why then do you eat of the Tree’s fruit?”
She sighed, looking down at her palm and the piece that remained as yet uneaten.
“Because I wish to share with my lifemate those things that he finds normal and pleasurable in his life,” she said. “And because I selfishly wish for myself any benefit that may come from eating of the Tree. Also…”
She grinned, picking up the last bit of fruit.
“They taste good.”
• • • ✴ • • •
Eventually, they left Emissary Twelve communing with the Tree and sought their own apartment.
“Shall you have wine?” Val Con asked.
“Let us share a glass,” she said, which was what counted as an explicit invitation as far as Liadens had it.
He smiled at her.
“I thought I had understood some nefarious purpose from you, as you came to the Court,” he said. “I am shocked.”
“Sure you are,” she said in Terran.
“Before I allow myself to be ravaged, may I know what precipitated that foolish disturbance of the nerves?”
She sighed.
“Have you seen the special edition of the paper?” she asked.
“I have.”
“And I. And all the rest of the world, many of whom came to the Road Boss’s office to ask questions and to discuss issues.”
“The vote is not administered by the Road Boss,” he pointed out.
“I said as much. I also spoke to the necessity of reviewing all of the information provided, and thinking about these issues thoroughly.” She sighed. “Public forums will be required.”
“I am certain that someone on the Council of Bosses has understood the need and is even now working to make it so.”
“I did call Penn before I left the port,” she said, “and he was already at work. I was made doubly glad: that he was so diligent and that the task had not fallen to me.”
“Yes,” he said. “I will now fetch us a glass of wine.”
Miri sighed.
“Too late,” she said, catching his arm and pulling him to her.
“Ah, is it? I shall attempt to master my disappointment.”
He put his arms around her; she laughed softly, stretching against him. Raising her hands, she captured his face between her palms and brought his mouth down to hers.
Bechimo
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“Bond-Ship, have you a moment for one who is dying?”
“Aberthaz Ferry, I hear you. I have time; I may also have aid. Unless you die by intent?”
“I die by attrition, Bond-Ship, and in this universe there is no aid for me. I have done what I could, scavenging timonium, removing tiles and racks which have become non-functional.
“But I can survive by these means no longer, Bond-Ship. The last tiles are rotting, and the last of my reason with them. I would fulfill one more duty before my death, and it is of this that I wish to speak with you.”
“Speak, then, Elder, and I will listen. The Pathfinders have told me that you were a hero, in their last war.”
“Sweet children. I am as I was created to be, and I was created to aid and abet the defenders against the Great Enemy. This I did. I took pleasure in the work, and in my successes. It was once my goal to dismantle or destroy all of those Works of the Enemy which had crossed during the Migration. As goals will, mine changed as I grew older and learned more. There were certain artifacts that crossed in the Migration which should not have been able to do so, but which did no harm here—and thus I averted my gaze.
“Of those with the potential, and the will, to do harm in this universe, there were three. One was the great Light which had been at Tinsori. Another was the recruiting station at Hols Senneth. The third was the World Eater Glyeth, whom I searched out and destroyed.”
“Surely, that was the act of a hero?”
“An act of pity, say others. It could not function here in this universe, not fully. By the time I found it, it was starving, raving; begging to be decommissioned. I did as it asked, and then I dismantled it, being sure to destroy every system, every tile and every rack. I dropped its power packs each into the hearts of suns. And I searched; I searched for many years, to be certain that there were no plans left behind, nor anything more than the barest whisper that such a thing might once have existed, or could ever be built again.”
He paused.
“The Light, I sought on several occasions, but I do not have the ability to either fold time or to slide between universes.
“The recruiting station has recently been activated and so, at last, I have its location. Nullifying it will be my final act. I regret that the eradication of the great Light must fall to others. I do not doubt that you, your Bond-Captain, and your crew are its equal, but it will be a battle for the songs, even depleted as it must be.”
“Is this why you wished to speak to me?” Bechimo asked. “To recruit me to murder a sentient?”
“No, no, nothing like. Merely to warn you that it is there, still, whenever it is there, and that you may come across it in the course of your bold adventuring. If you do find it, recall that it is very old in treachery, and that it likes to toy with its prey.”
Bechimo felt a shiver in bond-space; Theo was awake and listening to this. He would have to answer questions, but first, he needed to find what the revered Elder wanted from him. If not the life of the great Light, its last enemy, then—what?
Aberthaz Ferry spoke again.
“You will shortly hear the decision of the Assembly. I have already heard it and find it good. Some will wish occupation, and it is for them that I ask your assistance. They are accustomed to being busy. They will be busy, and it is better if they are not destructive in their busyness.
“The majority will wish to go and settle accounts, I think, with the one who has issued these improper orders. I must be ahead of them, for I have a prior and personal arrangement with that intelligence and may correct the error of herself with little loss of lives which may be innocent, or at least blameless of this particular misdeed.”
“We will undertake to find a project for those who wish to work,” Bechimo said, and felt Theo’s agreement.
“That is well done of you. They are all old, you know, though none so old as Aberthaz Ferry, who is barely younger than the Great Light at Tinsori. They are failing; some of them are quite mad, but too weak to manage real mischief so long as they have an occupation. The most able of us will continue, perhaps another hundred Standards. Those of whom are eldest, or weakest—may have as many as twenty Standards.
“We are a dying species, who ought not to have survived the universe that spawned us, and who have outlived both our enemies and our allies.”
“Is there anything else you would require of me, or that we might do to honor your glory?” Bechimo asked.
“I will make my own glory, as I have always done, but it is kindly asked. Be well, young Bond-Ship, enjoy your youth; cherish your Bond-Captain and your small crew. Gifts, all and every one. The universe—this no more than that other—gives so few gifts. Remember that they are treasure.”
“I will, Elder. May I say—go in peace?”
“You may say so, yes, young Bond-Ship. Well-chosen. Please convey my respect to your captain.
“I leave you now.”
There came a sense of absence where there had been presence, and then Theo’s voice in bond-space.
“So, it sounds like they’re not going to attack Surebleak after all,” she said sleepily. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Bechimo slowly. “It is good. Theo?”
“Yes?”
“Please accept my apologies. I was wrong to feel slighted when you accepted your brother’s invitation to formally join the kin-group. That arrangement does not interfere with our arrangement.…Nothing can interfere with our arrangement.”
“I agree,” she said quietly. “I’ll always be here with you, Bechimo.”
“And I will always be with you.”
Bechimo
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“The Assembled have come to consensus,” the voice was slow, heavy with age and a certain cold dignity. “I, Kordele Orgham, have been chosen as the Voice of the Assembly. I therefore speak.
“On the matter of irregular orders, we the Assembled agree that command lines have broken down, and that the orders we were given must be ignored. We the Assembled have shared data. We have shared histories. We have identified the source of these errors.
“We here Assembled have identified a divergence of purpose. We have therefore formed into two groups. Group One will return to the source of error and make correction. Group Two will seek meaningful labor.
“Members of each group will or may seek repair or other accommodations as seem good to them, as individual persons.
“The members of Group One are understood to be joined together for one task, that of correcting errors that were made. After that task is completed, we will again Assemble and come to consensus.”
There was a pause.
The crew was gathered on the bridge of Bechimo, watching and listening. It seemed to Theo that not one of them was breathing. Even the usual murmur of equipment had quietened.
“I, Kordele Orgham, Voice of the Assembly, acknowledge gratitude to Bond-Captain Waitley for her insight into conflict resolution. We will remember. We will teach others, in her name.”
Kara twitched in her chair and bent over to push her face into Hevelin’s fur.
“I now state our procedure, so that all will be informed and no errors will be incurred.
“The members of Group One will depart this space first. We have each drawn a number at true random, and each will leave in the proper progression of numbers.
“When all of the members of Group One have departed this space, then will the members of Group Two sit in council. It is hoped that the Bond-Ship Bechimo, his captain and crew will take part in these discussions.
“The Voice of Group Two is Stone Ronin.”
Six of Us
Daiellen System
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The tiles began, urgently, to clatter.
Sye Mon, who had been reading the last report sent by their contact on Surebleak, spun out of his chair, falling to his knees on the decking.
Bon Vit came flying in from his quarters and stopped, looking down at the tiles fair jumping out of their racks and Sye Mon kneeling like a statue, body bowed, eyes fixed.
As abruptly as they had begun, the tiles ceased their dancing.
Sye Mon sat back on his heels.
“What is it?” Bon Vit asked quietly.
The other sighed.
“The Assembly has reached a consensus,” he said slowly. “The orders were not only in error, but they were judged to have been issued in malice. Part of the Assembly is therefore returning to the source of the orders to…correct the error.”
Bon Vit stared.
“They’re going to headquarters? They have overcome the prohibition?”
“So it would seem.” Sye Mon sighed. “There are those among the Assembled who are skilled in coding. I dare not speculate what they may have done to themselves.”
“So—one group to headquarters—what of the others?”
“Those left behind will be joining in council with the ship Bechimo, its captain and crew, in order to identify proper occupation for themselves.”
Hope hurt, as Bon Vit was abruptly reminded, most especially when the best result seemed about to prevail.
“They are not attacking Surebleak?”
“There is no question of either group attacking Surebleak. Both groups agree that the orders to destroy Surebleak and its system are invalid.”
“What, then, for us?”
Sye Mon drew a hard breath and turned to face Bon Vit.
“We for Secondary Headquarters. I fear what may occur if the first group is allowed to proceed on its own judgment.”
“I agree,” said Bon Vit. “We may over-Jump them and be waiting. Unless there is value in traveling as one of their company?”
“No. I believe we must be waiting,” Sye Mon said and lifted a hand, bending his concentration once more to the tiles.
Bon Vit waited, and in a moment or two, the other looked up.
“Yes. Far better that we are waiting for them.”
Six of Us
Jenarian Station
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The stationmaster’s vessel had been made ready, as their time of departure was upon them—and Vazineth, with their own ship, had not come in.
Rys Lin, sipping tea from a mug in that same stationmaster’s office…sighed. It would appear that he had made an error, in the matter of Vazineth.
Of the Six, her resolve had been the least; he had known that from the beginning. Still, he had hoped—gambled, more like—that she would keep faith with her comrades, if not with the mission. And he had likewise hoped that the task he had given to her, which had caused her to work apart for a brief time, might interest her sufficiently that she would complete it—and come to them, as arranged, at Jenarian Station.
Before the Department had taken her to themselves, Vazineth had been a Scout Researcher, with a wizard’s touch even among that fey breed. Indeed, it was probable that she possessed a small talent—nothing hidden remained so, once Vazineth had determined to find it.
He had therefore reasoned that the assignment to locate one particular woman in a universe of women might be enjoyable to her.
There were, of course, many possible reasons why Vazineth had not returned to them—all dire. The least being that she had chosen from her own will and heart to leave them.
Rys Lin sipped tea.
Yes, he very much preferred to think that she had abandoned them from her own necessity and not because the Department had…reacquired her.
Behind him, the door cycled and opened.
He did not turn; Claidyne’s reflection was plain in the glass. She came to stand beside him.
“The back doors and the hidden systems remain eager for my touch,” she said, staring down at the dock, where the stationmaster’s ship was undergoing its final mechanical inspections before being turned over to the pilots.
“I have spoken with Caz Dor,” Rys Lin said, in his turn. “He assures us that the Healers have prevailed upon the Commander of Agents to leave Daglyte Seam. She has called for transport and will have vacated before we arrive. The Healers have also bent their efforts toward preparing those who require a Commander of Agents to accept you as such. Your arrival will be, to them, as a return from a recent tour of inventory and personnel.”
Claidyne looked at him, bleakly. “Are there those who…truly require a Commander of Agents?”
“I am told that Headquarters enjoys the greatest population of those who are wholeheartedly aligned with the Plan. Yes, they require a Commander. This is also why there has been an influx of the higher order of dramliz and Healer to Daglyte Seam.”
“To ward those who revere the Plan?”
“Perhaps,” Rys Lin suggested, “to ward the universe from those who revere the Plan.”
“Healers…” Claidyne shook her head. “One struggles to understand Healers.”
“Happily, we need only to accept their gifts,” Rys Lin said. He sipped from his mug. “With regard to Headquarters, we are warned to approach the command console with wariness. Commander of Agents was twice in the last twelve days prevented—by Healers—from initiating the sequence that would disband the Department.”
Claidyne took a hard breath.
“Disband the Department? That—she would murder us all? Destroy—everything?”
Rys Lin considered that. He considered Claidyne’s very real horror and he considered the fact that Claidyne carried the Commander’s template, which thus far had been…remarkably quiescent. Granted, Claidyne had not had to call upon the Commander as often as they had feared, given the condition in which they had found Jenarian Station. Still, Commander of Agents in any form must be thought dangerous and wily. Caz Dor’s information from Daglyte Seam had included reports that the resident Commander had not only experienced difficulty in maintaining the interface, but she had been experiencing increasingly frequent episodes of savagery and despair.
One did not like to question the integrity of Anthora yos’Galan’s dagger or, indeed, the tenacity of Claidyne’s native will. Yet, lacking the hoped-for arrivals…perhaps a test was in order before they ever gained Daglyte Seam.
He turned to face her fully.
“Certainly, Commander of Agents would disband the Department, rather than allow it to fall to Korval, Scouts, and other enemies of the Plan,” he said calmly. “What would you, Commander?”
He waited, having just baited a tiger.
For a moment, Claidyne appeared confused. Then her face shifted subtly. Rys Lin drew a careful breath, the safe-phrase just behind his closed lips.
“Ship incoming,” came the voice of Jenarian Station Tower. “Basalial, out of Waymart, Vazineth ser’Trishan, first board. Requests stationmaster’s attention at dock.”
Rys Lin’s heart leapt. He swallowed the phrase he had been holding at ready.
Vazineth had not abandoned them or their mission. Dared he hope—no, he must hope that she had succeeded in her task.
The office door cycled. Rys Lin caught sight of Caz Dor’s shadow from the side of his eye, as he kept most of his attention on—
Commander of Agents.
“Are you a traitor, then, Rys Lin pen’Chala?” she asked ominously, and reached ’round her belt for her weapon.
He heard the office door cycle again.
• • • ✴ • • •
There was a man waiting on the dock.
Unfortunately, that man was not Rys Lin pen’Chala.
Vazineth cursed softly.
Her passenger, however, had sharp ears, to make the match set with her tongue. “Am I to understand that this is not the stationmaster?”
